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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054269">Say You Want Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherbel/pseuds/Heatherbel'>Heatherbel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Say Yes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mentalist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caution - May cause yearning, F/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Swearing, a touch of cockwarming, an abundance of angst, extremely creative history teaching methods, shameless fluff, truly terrible puns, yet more baked goods</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:22:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherbel/pseuds/Heatherbel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus Pike was unlucky in love until the day you literally fell into his life.</p><p>Now he's in a blissful whirlwind romance on the vacation of a lifetime - what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Say Yes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Say You Want Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this was a long time coming, and I really, truly hope you think it was worth the wait. </p><p>A huge thank you as always to yespolkadot_kitty for your never ending encouragement and beta reading mastery. </p><p>And to jura-moon, light of my life, goblin of my heart, I can truly say this wouldn't have been written if it wasn't for you. </p><p>This one is also for ilookedback - who, just like Marcus, is beautiful both inside and out.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The warm rain drums down in torrents and you squeal with laughter as you try to run in increasingly slippery flip flops down the Venetian canal-side, the damp cotton of your dress clinging to your body as you pick your way through the puddles.</p><p>Footsteps following close behind splash water up your bare legs and Marcus overtakes you, skidding precariously through the puddled rain in canvas shoes that were definitely <em> not </em> designed for underwater wear. </p><p>"Marcus, the donuts!" You holler, and he lifts his hand just in time as the bottom of the sodden paper bag begins to give way, stopping the precious pastries from falling to the ground only feet away from your destination.</p><p>The two of you slide into your hotel's foyer in a pile of soaking giggles, only reining it in when you notice the receptionist's bemused stare. </p><p>Your sandals squeak and Marcus's shoes squelch as you make your very undignified way across the polished marble floor. Hurriedly bundling into the lift before bursting into another fit of laughter. </p><p>The rain has plastered his hair onto his head and his eyes shine as he grins at you, his chest shaking with a deep throaty chuckle at your predicament. </p><p>Your heart squeezes at the sight of him, you are so in… you catch yourself, it's too soon - but you care about him <em> so much </em>, this wonderful man. You've genuinely never felt happier, and you tenderly brush a stray raindrop from the bridge of his nose just as the lift reaches your floor. </p><p>You reach your room and dump your things, straightening up with a sigh as you take in the dreamy view of the canal out the window. </p><p>Venice... and only two nights left until you’re heading home. How did that happen? They say that time flies when you're having fun, and oh my god, you've had so much fun. </p><p>The last three weeks had been a whirlwind. After that first blissful night, you'd spent two full days in his hotel room exploring nothing but each other… Something you had to admit was maybe not the smartest use of your short time in Italy, but infinitely more memorable than even the most exciting ancient monument.</p><p>Further adventures in Capri, Ischia, the galleries and palaces of Florence, and days of lazy boat rides on the northern lakes had all passed in a haze and now it felt like you'd blinked and your trip was nearly over. </p><p>Marcus had spoiled you, insisting on upgrading your budget hotel accommodation to something a little more luxurious everywhere you went, but he'd outdone himself with this final hotel of the trip. Elegant and arty without being so fancy you felt uncomfortable, your room in Hotel Heureka had a view you'd never forget; the rain storm had gone almost as quickly as it had arrived and as you watched, the afternoon sunlight now cascaded over the canal, washing the palazzos in shades of soft pastel. </p><p>You turn to find Marcus dripping rainwater onto the floor, carefully peeling the donuts from the remnants of their bag, licking the sugar from his fingertips when he's done. </p><p>"Did they survive unscathed?" You ask, trying not to laugh at how seriously he surveys the baked goods. </p><p>"Slightly squashed, but I'd say they're still edible,” he hums, "although, with the crazy way you shouted at me out there, it's a miracle I didn't drop the whole bag in the canal."</p><p>"Are you kidding me? My reaction was <em> entirely </em> appropriate. At least two of those donuts have custard in them, and I think you're underestimating my love affair with custard - if you'd lost those I'd have never forgiven you."</p><p>"Never?" He smiles at you.</p><p>"Nope, never <em> ever </em>." </p><p>"Well we couldn't have that now could we?" He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist and you smack him in the chest playfully.</p><p>"Y'know I don't think you're taking me entirely seriously mister, and I'll have you know that I would never joke about something as serious as custard." </p><p>"Is that right?" He tries, and fails, to look deadly serious. </p><p>"Yep, that would be a crime, and as a lawman you'd need to take me into custardy."</p><p>"Really, honey? Custardy? You went there huh?" He grins.</p><p>"You should know by now I've never met a pun I could resist." </p><p>"And donut I know it."</p><p>"Oooh Agent Pike, even by my own terrible standards that was <em> awful </em>!" And he stops you with a kiss before you can say more. </p><p>Eventually, reluctantly, you break away, as both of you desperately need a change of clothes. </p><p>You hiss slightly as the straps of your soaking dress chafe uncomfortably against your shoulders when you slip it off. Despite the sudden rain storm, the morning had been gloriously bright and you shake your head, knowing you'd spent too long exposed to the sun's rays as you explored the Guggenheim sculpture garden together. </p><p>Heading to the sink, you grab the bottle of cooling aloe after-sun and pop the cap. As you look in the mirror and begin to dab the soothing balm across your shoulders Marcus appears behind you in only his boxers, his own wet clothes stripped off to dry. </p><p>"You okay?" He asks, brow furrowed in concern when he notices what you're doing. </p><p>"Yeah, I just caught the sun a little, that's all." </p><p>"Is it sore?"</p><p>"No, just a little sensitive, I'll make sure to keep my shoulders out of the sun tomorrow and I'll be fine."</p><p>"Here, let me." He takes the bottle from you, and you start as he squeezes icy droplets across your shoulders and collarbone before letting out a hum of satisfaction as he begins to massage it in with soft careful strokes. </p><p>Your skin doesn't hurt at all, in fact it's like every touch of his hands is heightened, his fingers slipping and sliding across your shoulders and neck, slowly working their way lower and lower down your chest. One hand skims around your back and with a flick of his fingers your strapless bra slides to the floor as his hands move to cup your breasts. </p><p>You turn slightly, reaching up behind you to draw him forward for a kiss. Your lips move softly, languorously together in a give and take before his tongue runs across your bottom lip and you deepen the kiss, licking into his mouth. He tastes of sugar and vanilla and… <em> custard </em>. You pull back, scandalised, "Marcus, did you eat the donuts?" And he laughs, eyes crinkling.</p><p>"Maybe just the one?"</p><p>"Maybe?" You gasp in mock surprise. </p><p>"Hey, there's still plenty left, and anyway… I'm administering important first aid here, don't distract me."</p><p>He takes a little more of the lotion and rubs it between his palms before applying it to your breasts and you giggle. </p><p>"Y'know? I don't think that area got any direct sunlight today," you advise him.</p><p>He huffs lightly, "I think we're better safe than sorry, yeah?" And you nod in agreement, moaning softly as he rolls your nipples between his fingertips. </p><p>He kisses you again, and it swiftly becomes heated as you feel him pressing hard into the curve of your ass. You reach behind you, pushing his boxers down his hips onto the floor before doing the same with your own underwear, moaning at the heat and heft of him pressed into the plushness of your backside.</p><p>You grind back against him and he finally breaks the kiss, taking a moment to step out of his underwear and kick it aside. He presses soft, careful kisses down your neck, fingers caressing your breasts once again and then pushes at your inner ankles with his foot, widening your stance</p><p>His hand presses between your shoulder blades, bowing you for him, and you shudder as your chest is pressed forward into the cool porcelain of the shallow basin, your breath fogging a small section of the mirror in front of your face. You keen as you feel the silky heat of his cock catch at your entrance. </p><p>In one stroke he slides inside and you close your eyes in a gasp of pleasure, feeling desperately full. You've lost count of how many times he's filled you in the last few weeks, but every single time has taken your breath away. </p><p>You wait for him to move but he stays perfectly still, his warm breath puffing against your shoulder, and you open your eyes to find him staring at you in the mirror, his eyes dark and hot as he gazes at you. You try to shift but he holds you still, pinning your hips against the edge of the basin with his own and you moan and squirm against him, desperate for friction. </p><p>He pulls you up and back into his chest, one arm holding you tight, his hand cradling your jaw, the other snaking down your front to feel where he is sinking into you, splitting you wide open on his cock. </p><p>"Look at you," he whispers, "you're perfect."</p><p>"Mmmm… Marcus, please," you whine.</p><p>"Shhhhh," he shushes softly in your ear as he slides his fingers into your mouth to stop your tongue. </p><p>"Just look at how perfect you are for me," he thrusts slightly and you moan around his digits. Watching his every move reflected in the glass. "Now, what did I do to deserve a girl like you?" </p><p>You'd like to answer, you'd like to fuck him, you'd like to do a thousand different things but all you can do is stand there and watch as he slides his other hand through your slick and begins to stroke your clit, so softly at first it's like a slow torture, his eyes never leaving your own. He adds a little more pressure and you feel deep sparks of pleasure, and when he moans you know it's because he can feel you fluttering around his cock. You're so wet it's dripping down your thighs and yet he just won't move. You try to fuck back against him, to get him to shift even a little but he won't budge an inch. </p><p>"My beautiful girl, you're going to come just like this for me, aren't you?' He rasps into your skin, placing sweet kisses down your jaw. And you nod, as well as you can. You'd do anything for this man, and you can certainly do that. </p><p>He holds your gaze as he swirls his fingers in tight circles and you can feel your stomach coiling tighter as you clench around him. Waves of pleasure swell with every stroke until they overtake you entirely and you are quivering, gasping around his finger tips, only the strong grip of his hands and hips keeping you upright. </p><p>He works you through it, and then slows his hand and eases his fingers from your mouth. Placing a soft kiss on your lips he presses his weight into you, bending you at the waist as he takes your palms and presses them to grip on to the side of the basin. </p><p>Finally, blessedly, he slides back before thrusting forward, groaning loudly as he gives you what you both need. </p><p>His thrusts are slow and deep and grinding, and you are utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of him moving deep inside. You hang on to the basin, your fingers sliding against the porcelain as he works into you, relishing his moans and the way he says your name. </p><p>You force yourself to open your eyes and look, watching him in the mirror, his jaw slack, hair falling over his forehead as he grips your hips and rocks into you, lost in his own pleasure. He's so beautiful, and you can't quite believe he's yours. His eyes open and lock with your own as he brings a hand back down to where you’re joined, and it only takes moments before you're lost too, gasping for breath as the rush of sensation sweeps you away. </p><p>His hips begin to pound into you and he gasps your name as he finds his own peak, clutching you tightly against him as he pulses inside you. </p><p>Marcus' weight is heavy on your back, his head resting on your shoulder as your breathing steadies and you recover your equilibrium. You can't feel your legs and you aren't entirely sure if it's from the incredible orgasm or the way you're still pressed into the sink. </p><p>It takes at least a minute but you finally remember how to speak. "How about," you pant, "you go run us a bath, I'll call down for a bottle of prosecco and we can see just how many donuts are left after your illegal raid?" </p><p>"Donuts in the bath?" He chuckles and you moan, feeling his laugh deep inside, where you are still joined, aftershocks of pleasure catching you at the sensation. "We really are living the high life here aren't we?" And you laugh in agreement, and this time it's Marcus's turn to groan. </p><p> </p><p>************************************</p><p> </p><p>You sigh at yourself as you check your watch for the third time. You're seated in the sunshine at a table outside Cafe Florian, and you begrudgingly acknowledge to yourself that there are worse places to fill time. Marcus isn't even all that late, only ten minutes or so but it's the last day of the trip and you're missing his company. </p><p>The sole condition of his extended leave had been that he was to take the opportunity to have a meeting with his counterpart on the Comando Carabinieri Tutela Patrimonio Culturale, and so he'd left you at breakfast, heading off to meet Colonel Candido at the CTP Art Squad offices in St Mark's Square. You'd spent the morning touring The Doge's Palace and lamenting that Marcus wasn't with you to see the magnificent paintings by Titian and Tintoretto inside its grand halls. </p><p>"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"</p><p>You look up from the menu and grin as Marcus leans in for a kiss. </p><p>"So, what looks good for lunch?" He says brightly, as he swings into a seat next to you.</p><p>"Oh no, we are not eating here," you say as softly as you can over the musicians playing, "this place is a tourist trap, the prices are insane. We can have a coffee, that's it." He slips the menu out of your hand and swiftly flicks through it.</p><p>"What about tiramisu?" He pouts a little, knowing by now you find it almost impossible to say no to him when he's being this charming.</p><p>You roll your eyes but can't help but smile at him and he already knows he's won. </p><p>"Just the one- with two spoons," you say and he's waving a waiter over before you've even finished speaking. </p><p>You ask how his meeting went and his face positively lights up as he explains that Italy has the biggest and best art crime task-force in the world. He's particularly excited about how they can work together to bring down counterfeiting rings and your heart swells to hear him so passionately enthused about his work. </p><p>You have to hand it to him, the tiramisu was a good call. The sweet, creamy mascarpone melts on your tongue and when you are done you take the opportunity to kiss the last drops of powdered chocolate off of Marcus's lips. </p><p>You see him cringe slightly when he sees the bill, but when you raise an eyebrow he shakes his head and insists that it's all part of the experience with a grin. </p><p>After settling up, he takes your hand and you take the short stroll to Rialto Bridge, weaving your way amongst crowds of tourists to enjoy the incredible view of the Grand Canal before taking your time exploring the small gift shops and stalls that line its sides. </p><p>The last stall is covered in masquerade masks, much the same as the ones you'd seen all over the city, but for the first time one catches your eye. After checking with the stall holder that touching is allowed, you lift it for a closer look. A half mask of delicate silver filigree, with dark cabochons set into it, it looks like something you could imagine Titania herself wearing, it is <em> gorgeous.  </em></p><p>As you gaze at the mask Marcus wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder to see what you've picked out. </p><p>He hums in approval, "that's very pretty but what about those? They're cute." He gestures towards the display of feline gatto masks on the wall. He has a good eye, they're certainly beautiful but you still prefer the one in your hands. </p><p>"Nah, I think I'll stick with this one."</p><p>You hear Marcus let out a small huff of what sounds like disappointment and you turn to him with narrowed eyes. </p><p>"Marcus Pike, do you have a thing for Catwoman?" Your face can't help but break into a grin.</p><p>He looks a little abashed. "Hey, I was a teenager when <em> Batman Returns </em>came out... what can I say? Michelle Pfeiffer was a big deal."  </p><p>"Mhmm, we can explore <em> that </em> revelation at a later date," you laugh as you pay the stall holder and tuck the mask safely away in your bag. </p><p> </p><p>************************************</p><p> </p><p>Back at the hotel, Marcus heads in to shower and you take the chance to dig into your suitcase. You don't have a lot of fancy underwear, and hadn't exactly expected anyone to be looking at your undies on this holiday, but there's one lace set that he hasn't seen yet. </p><p>Sliding it on, you reach into your handbag and close your fingers around the finishing item for your ensemble. The satin ribbons slide silkily through your fingers as you tie the mask at the back of your head.</p><p>You have just enough time to arrange yourself on the chaise longue by the window before you hear the latch of the bathroom door.  </p><p>Marcus steps out and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you. He looks beautiful, his sun-kissed skin still shining with water from the shower. He's naked but for a small towel wrapped and tucked snug around his narrow hips, and your stomach bottoms out with pure <em> want </em> at the sight of him. </p><p>"What's this then?" He asks, a small smile tugging at his lips as he closes the distance between you, eyes roving over your body. You stand and run a finger down his jaw, tilting his chin up so he's looking you in the eyes. </p><p>He's so close you can feel the heat of his body and every cell of your being is crying out to press against him, but you catch his hands in your own as they reach for you, giving a gentle shake of your head. </p><p>"No touching… yet," you breathe, "I think it's time for another history lesson."</p><p>"Oh, you do, huh? And am I going to like this lesson?" His eyebrows raise mischievously.</p><p>You give him your best coquettish smile, "I have it on very good authority that I'm an <em> excellent </em> teacher."</p><p>Releasing his hands you press your palms into the warm planes of his chest and push gently, easing him backwards towards the bed. </p><p>"Now be a good student and take a seat, make yourself comfortable."</p><p>He eases back onto the four-poster, pushing himself up so he's propped against the pillows at the headboard. All the while his eyes never leave where you stand at the foot of the bed. From the tent in his towel you can tell that he's enjoying the view. </p><p>"I don't know if you're aware that Venice is famous for its courtesans?" You ask.</p><p>"I think I might have heard that somewhere," he murmurs, as you slide the lace of your bra strap off one shoulder. </p><p>"In Venetian society there weren't many choices for educated and cultured women. Either their family could raise a ridiculous amount of money for a dowry so they could marry," you slip the strap off your other shoulder, and reach behind your back, "or they could become a nun…" You unclasp your bra and let it fall to the floor. </p><p>"And what a waste that would be," he rasps, leaning forward as you begin to crawl up the bed to straddle him.  </p><p>With a chaste kiss to his lips you push him back on the mattress, sliding your palms down his forearms to where his hands have instinctively wrapped around your waist and you pull them away, pressing them into the soft down of the pillows beside his head. </p><p>"No touching until I say so, be a good student," you say, and he nods eagerly. </p><p>Settling your bottom at the apex of his thighs you relish his groan as you grind gently against the hard bulge beneath his towel. You press a kiss to the tip of his nose before sitting up to continue his lesson. </p><p>"Now there was another choice, a smart girl could either choose to stay at home, as a lonely spinster or she could become a <em> cortigna onesta, </em>an 'honest courtesan'."</p><p>You run a finger lightly across his collar-bone tracing the dip at the hollow of his throat before running your nails lightly across his chest and he shifts beneath you restlessly. </p><p>"Ah, ah," you admonish, and he grins sheepishly but you wait until he stills before you continue. </p><p>"Now, men here wouldn't marry until their thirties, and until they did they often desired the company of women to entertain them, and <em> that's </em> where the courtesans came in."</p><p>You ease down his body and settle between his legs, slowly untucking the towel at his waist and folding it back, like you're unwrapping a present, and you suppose in a way you are.</p><p>He really does have the prettiest cock you've ever seen, and it twitches delightfully as you ghost your warm breath over it. He's thick and hard and standing to full attention, the tip flushed a deep rosy shade of pink; your mouth waters and you feel your cunt flood at the sight. </p><p>"And how exactly would these courtesans entertain their men?" He asks, and there's a shaky desperation to his tone that gives you a rush.</p><p>"Well, that's what I thought I should try and find out, really get into their mind-set, after all, while in Rome and all that…" </p><p>"While you're in Venice," he breathes.</p><p>You press soft kisses to the crease of his thigh on one side and then the other, before running your tongue from the base of his balls to the top, enjoying his groans, before sucking first one into your mouth and rolling it on your tongue and then the other. From his moans and the twitching strain of his cock you know he’s desperate for your touch and you gently run the soft plush of your lips up the ridge on the underside of his shaft. </p><p>The tip is shiny with pre-come and you lick it with the lightest flick of your tongue before pulling back as he gasps. </p><p>You lick your palm and place it round his length, stroking low and gentle. </p><p>"Now they say that the most skilled courtesans could wield a great deal of influence. I wonder how?"</p><p>"I think I know," he half groans, half laughs, and you smile as you lick wetly down the side of his cock, eliciting another moan. You do the same to the other side and lick your palm again, gripping him firmly and sliding your hand over him with a twist of your wrist, pressing kisses and small licks to the extra sensitive spot at the underside of the head. Finally, you give him what he really craves and wrap your warm lips around the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue and sucking gently and his hips rise off the bed as he lets out a stream of curses. </p><p>You keep working him like that until his thighs are shuddering and then begin to bob your head, taking him deeper with each stroke until he's hitting the back of your throat and whimpering your name. </p><p>You take a moment to glance up and enjoy how wrecked he looks, how you've utterly undone this glorious man, but you're not finished yet. </p><p>Your jaw is beginning to ache a little so you ease back, licking the head gently before removing your mouth and hands from him entirely. </p><p>"No, no, no <em> please don't stop </em>," he begs, and you smile archly, stroking your fingertips across his stomach.</p><p>"Huh, so you really think the courtesans were that powerful?" </p><p>"<em> Fuck yes </em>, please, please keep going," he gasps.</p><p>"Hands," you grin, and as he reaches down you place his hands on the back of your head and lower your lips to him once again. </p><p>You let him dictate the pace of your movements, using you for his pleasure as you use your fingers to stroke every inch that won't fit in your mouth, bringing your other hand up to stroke and fondle his balls. </p><p>He fucks into your mouth and whines, never being rough but still encouraging you to swallow him a little deeper with every thrust and you moan around him, helplessly turned on. </p><p>Marcus lets out a broken cry as he comes, his balls drawing tight, and holds himself deep as he pulses in your throat. Everything about the moment is so sexy you feel light-headed as you watch him come apart on your tongue. </p><p>His hands fall to the mattress, boneless and sated, and you keep working him in your mouth, licking away every last drop of his spend until he flinches away. Then you rest your head on his thigh until his breathing steadies. "Good lesson?" You ask.</p><p>"<em> God yes," </em> he pants, "The best history lesson I've <em> ever </em> had. Now take those panties off and get up here <em> immediately. </em>" </p><p>You don't need to be told twice. The scrap of lace is hastily discarded and you make your way back up his gorgeous body, pausing to place one more kiss to the tip of his softening cock and he hisses as you caress the hypersensitive skin with the tip of your tongue. </p><p>"Up," he says, and pulls you, pausing for a second to kiss you hard, licking into your mouth and groaning at the taste of his seed on your tongue, but then he doesn't stop tugging, gripping your ass cheeks and lifting until your thighs are straddling his face, and your knees are sinking into the pillows on either side of him. </p><p>"Marcus!" You squeal, "am I not smoth…?" But your words are cut off, and any worries about his ability to breathe are wiped from your mind as he pulls you down harder on his face and swipes his tongue through your folds. His mouth is hot and his tongue is relentless, first fucking into you and then sliding flat against you as he grips your hips and grinds you on his face over and over, and it's all you can do to hold on to the headboard and not fall over as you are hit with jolt after jolt of pleasure. </p><p>As you attempt to cling on to your balance and what feels like the last vestiges of your sanity, he slows his movements, wraps his plush lips around your clit and sucks. What's left of the world splinters around you. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you as he works you through your high, and when you become too sensitive, attempting to instinctively jerk away, it's only the strong grip of his hands that stops you toppling out of the bed entirely. </p><p>He eases you down carefully and you lie on top of him, sinking into his warm embrace as he runs his hands up and down your spine. You feel like your legs are entirely made of jello but you can't quite get comfortable and reach up to untie the ribbon at the back of your head, gently tossing the mask onto the bedside table before snuggling your cheek into his chest. </p><p>"Y'know," he rumbles into your hair, "that mask has won me over, I think you should definitely wear it again."</p><p>"That good, huh?" </p><p>"That good." he nods, and he presses small sweet kisses across your brow as you drift into a contented sleep. </p><p> </p><p>************************************</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, Marcus rouses you, coaxing you out of bed with the promise of one final meal in a cosy local restaurant. After pasta and wine you stroll out into the lamp lit streets, in search of a gondolier. </p><p>You find one only a few blocks away and laugh as the boat rocks precariously when you step in, Marcus pulling you tightly into his side to keep you safe. The ride includes a bottle of prosecco to share and Marcus makes short work of opening the bottle and pouring you both generous glasses.  You smile as you sip the sweet bubbles curled under his arm, fully aware that you've hit peak cheesy tourist in this moment, but it's so magical you just don't care. </p><p>Your gondolier guides you through the sites, pointing out places of interest you might have missed as you glide beneath the city's ornate bridges. </p><p>As you turn out onto the grand canal the city glows and you feel completely under its spell; breathtakingly happy. </p><p>You turn to Marcus, finding that he’s already gazing at you, a content smile on his face and his eyes soft and warm. You press your lips to his sweetly, and his hand sinks into your hair, holding you as he slants his mouth to yours, deepening the kiss. He licks into your mouth, and your toes curl with want. You don't think you've ever wanted anyone the way you want him. </p><p>Eventually he breaks the kiss, pressing his lips across your cheek and pauses, his mouth at your ear, and you think he's about to say something, but he pulls away. </p><p>He busies himself, topping up your prosecco and then turns, taking in the view and you decide to do the same. Kisses are all very well but this gondola ride is almost certainly a once in a lifetime experience, you should take it in while you can. </p><p>The city is beautiful by day but even more dreamy at night and you take a moment to breathe in the fact that you are traveling the same canals as Casanova, Titian and Vivaldi. </p><p>You notice Marcus turn and refill his glass again, when you've barely had a chance to take a sip of yours, and you're surprised, but since he paid over a hundred euros for half an hour's ride you can't blame him for getting his money's worth. </p><p>The boat docks, and Marcus is uncharacteristically quiet as you stroll back to the hotel. </p><p>By the time you get up to your room, you aren't sure what you'd expected to mark the final night of your trip, but it wasn't this. </p><p>You'd imagined one last bottle of Prosecco with him in the roll-top bath, and finally having the talk you'd been avoiding about what happens next for you both; but for the first time in the entire holiday Marcus goes straight to the bathroom and reappears wearing sleep shorts and a t-shirt, climbing straight into bed.</p><p>He mumbles something about having to be up early to catch your train, and switches his light off, rolling over with his back to you.</p><p>You're puzzled, and a little hurt, but you figure Marcus is probably as sad as you are about going home. Maybe this is just his way of dealing with it. </p><p>You climb into the bed and press kisses to the nape of his neck, nuzzling your nose into soft curls that smell faintly of the hotel's fancy lemon and verbena shampoo. He's unresponsive to your touches, unmoving beneath your palms, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only sign that life stirs within him. You're puzzled at first, and then realise your affections are unwanted and feel awful. Awful for pushing yourself on someone who doesn't want you, and desperately hurt that after everything Marcus is behaving like this. </p><p>You're so confused, wracking your brain for what you have said or done wrong. You roll over to your own side of the bed, heart sinking in your chest; feeling desperately unsure for the first time in weeks. You <em> know </em> you should try talking to him but you haven't got the first clue where to begin. And you know in the deepest, darkest part of you, you're terrified to hear what he might have to say. </p><p>He's only inches away, but the gulf between you feels enormous, and it takes what feels like hours before you eventually fall into a fitful sleep.</p><p>You are woken in the dead of the night by the soft press of Marcus's lips running over your neck and jaw. "Marcus?" You ask, your thoughts still fuzzy from sleep, but you can feel him, hot and hard, pressing insistently into your thigh and a sharp spike of arousal soon clears your head. </p><p>"Please?" He whispers into your hair, his hand stroking down to palm your breasts through your tank top. </p><p>"Please?" He begs again, his voice ragged as he says your name, and he sounds upset, you think, even though that makes no sense. And even though you are still annoyed with him, you say yes, because you want him, and if he still wants you then it means that the last few hours were just a glitch, and everything is still right with the world. </p><p>He rolls you over, tugging your panties down, and climbs on top of you. It's different this time... he's different. Tense under your fingertips, nothing about this is reminiscent of the slow, careful lovemaking you've experienced over and over on this trip. This is hard and desperate, and you enjoy it, but it is a near feral side that Marcus hasn't shown you before as he slams his hips into your own, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It is all you can do to hook your ankles at the small of his back, dig your fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and cling on for dear life as he fucks you into the mattress. He moans loudly as he comes, and you don't but that's okay, and he clings to you tightly as you both drift back off to sleep. </p><p>When you wake the next morning Marcus is already out of bed and showered; all business as he packs his case with the efficiency of a seasoned traveller. You try to speak to him, and he's polite, sweet even, as he helps you gather your things, but he will barely look you in the eye. </p><p>Your chest feels tight and the air in the room feels oh so thin. You're not entirely sure who this person is, it looks like Marcus and talks like him but it's not the man you've spent nearly every moment of the last three weeks with, that's for sure. If someone was to tell you he'd been possessed or bodysnatched, you'd be willing to believe them. </p><p>By the time you're out of the shower, he's already left the room, ostensibly to settle the bill with reception, but you know he’s avoiding you, and it's all you can do to hold it together as you get dressed in your travelling clothes. The stupid hairdryer is so fucking weak and you can't fit your hairbrush in your toiletry bag and… and… you bite the back of your hand to stifle the sob that's working its way out your chest. </p><p>You resolve then and there that you will not cry. You wont give him the satisfaction of knowing he's breaking your heart.</p><p>You slam the dryer back in its cradle, and scrape your hair back off your face. It’s still damp, and you know it will end up looking a total mess, but you really couldn't give a shit what you look like right now.</p><p>You gather your things and the second he returns to the room you're out the door, not waiting for him as you wheel your own luggage to the lift and ride it down to the foyer. </p><p>He catches up with you outside but says nothing about your departure, simply follows in silence as you hop into the waiting water taxi, choosing to sit across from you rather than next to you. The rumble of the boat engine and happy chatter of the other tourists are the only soundtrack to your short trip, and you stare intently at the scenery but see none of it.</p><p>It feels like a wall has come down between you, and you don't understand what has gone wrong. Your heart and head pound as you question everything. Did you say something wrong? Do something? Where has the sweet man who was so single minded in his pursuit of your heart gone?</p><p>You reach Santa Lucia station and trudge up the ramp with heavy feet and a heavier heart, turning at the top of the steps for one last bittersweet look at the city. When you turn back Marcus has vanished, and your stomach takes another sickening lurch. You bolt into the station, relief flooding you as you find him not far from the doors, his eyes scanning the overhead boards. You do the same and your heart sinks further as you realise your train platforms are on opposite sides of the station. </p><p>Marcus hadn't been able to get booked on a flight home from Marco Polo Airport, and was having to travel on to Treviso to catch a plane home. This was it, you'd known for weeks that this would be the place you'd have to say goodbye, but you hadn't expected it to feel like this. </p><p>You turn to him, and words fail you. There's so much you want to say. </p><p>His eyes look solemn as he presses a kiss to your forehead. </p><p>"Take care of yourself," he says, just like that, and turns and walks away.</p><p>No, no, <em> no </em> - it can't end like that, it can't.</p><p>"Marcus!" You yell, and he hears you, you know he does, you see him visibly flinch, but he doesn't stop and he doesn’t turn around.</p><p>And that, right there, is the precise moment you feel your heart break. </p><p> </p><p>************************************</p><p> </p><p>The first flight is horrific. The layover interminable. Time loses all meaning, your world narrowed to grief and the static of airline tannoy announcements. By the time your second flight takes off you feel like someone has hollowed out your insides with a rusty spoon. The only emotion you have left is anger, you're angry at Marcus but more at yourself. Fucking hell, you went away to mend a broken heart and came home with a new one. Who does that? </p><p>You, that's who. Only you. </p><p>By the time you reach home, it's a full fortnight before you can bring yourself to unpack your case. When you eventually do, your clothes still faintly smell of him and you cry yourself to sleep with a t-shirt clutched in your palm. </p><p>Another week passes and you feel a little more human, but the ache won't go away. If anything, it gets a little deeper every day and the questions in your head get a little louder. Why? What did you do wrong? You'd fallen for him and been so, so certain he felt the same way. Were you really so mistaken? </p><p>You pick up your phone and flick to his contact before putting it back down a hundred times each day. It isn't a conversation for the phone... you don't even know if he'd pick up. God knows he hasn't called you.</p><p>You can't go on like this, not knowing. It's going to break you. </p><p>Slowly a plan begins to coalesce. It's dumb and crazy, but then so are you, and it's the only hope you have of getting the answers you crave. </p><p> </p><p>************************************</p><p> </p><p>You sit in the rental car anxiously running your fingers up and down the stitching on the faux leather of the steering wheel. Willing your heart to stop trying to beat out of your chest. You're here. You're fucking here, in front of his house, the place that he lives, and you suddenly don't know why. What the fuck possessed you to do this? To fly out here and make a fool of yourself. You know you're shaking and you need to stop, to be cool and calm and collected when you confront him, but your body just doesn't want to cooperate right now.</p><p>You gaze at the brick frontage of his condo, it's Saturday and there's a car parked in the drive but you can't see any sign of anyone stirring inside. What if he isn't home? What if he isn't even in the country? The thought rattles round your head. He's the head of The International Art Theft squad, there's no saying that he isn't abroad right now. Maybe with a new girl on his arm - your chest aches at the thought.</p><p>The neighbourhood is nice, leafy. It's a little bit hipster, a little arty, a little traditional, it suits him well. The early autumn has turned the trees to shades of golden and bronze, and a carpet of fallen leaves lays across the lawn. His home is much as he'd described it. It's small, but he'd said the rental was just a stop gap, after splitting from his ex he hadn't had the heart to put down roots. </p><p>His ex. Your heart lurches. What if he had gotten back with her? You are utterly frozen. Desperate to see him again but terrified too. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." In frustration you drop your head onto the steering wheel, nearly putting a hole in the roof of your rental with your head when the horn blasts out. </p><p>"Aahh shit!" You turn just in time to see a glimpse of movement by the window, oh no, no, no, no… before you have a chance to think, before you even have a chance to properly and thoroughly panic the way you'd like to, the door opens and there he is. </p><p>You're not going to lie to yourself and say he looks good. His tan has faded and he looks drawn with dark circles shaded under his tired eyes, but as he walks barefoot down the path towards your car, wearing only a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans, he's still so beautiful to you that it breaks your heart just a little more. </p><p>Your mouth feels dry as you open the car door and step on to the sidewalk, and it feels hard to get any words to come out, but you manage a small breathless, "hi," as you desperately try to gauge his feelings from the bewildered look on his face. </p><p>Before you can say another word he's hugging you, pulling you tightly into his chest, and for a second you just breathe him in, absorbing the smell of laundry detergent and the musk of his warm skin and you don't want to let go, but you know you have to, easing yourself away to take a step back. </p><p>He looks so confused as he reaches a hand out to cup your face. </p><p>"I can't believe you're here." His voice is shaky and he looks close to tears. "How… how did you even know where I live?" </p><p>It's a fair question, you'd talked about your homes, your neighbourhoods, but hadn't exactly gotten around to swapping zip codes before you left Venice. </p><p>"Your secretary, I called your work and got patched through. I didn't tell her everything, but she... she seemed to have an idea. Said something like, "oh thank god," and gave me your address right away."</p><p>"I think I owe her a raise," he says with a half smile and you feel a small flutter of hope in your chest. </p><p>You stare at each other for a second, just taking in his face, his rumpled hair, everything about him that you've missed so much. </p><p>You both speak at exactly the same time. </p><p>-"I'm so sorry"-</p><p>-"We need to talk"-</p><p>"We do," he says, and sighs deeply, "look come inside, there's a lot I have to explain."</p><p>Your stomach sinks at what that might mean, but you let him lead the way as you follow him into his condo. The living room is plain but comfortable, a large sofa taking up most of the space, and you get the impression that it's a place to be rather than live, with few of the soft touches that would truly make it a home. </p><p>"You must have been travelling for hours, can I get you something to drink, or to eat?" He says, and there's such genuine concern and kindness in the gesture that it makes your heart squeeze. </p><p>"No. Thank you." You give him a shake of your head and wrap your arms around yourself, feeling hopelessly awkward. His warm fingers catch yours and he draws you over to the sofa, taking a seat and you do too, careful to leave a respectful distance between you, and as he turns, angling his body towards you, you try and fail to find the words to begin. </p><p>Thankfully he finds them for you. </p><p>"I don't know if you can ever forgive me, but I'm so sorry for the way I ended things in Venice. I fucked up so bad. I didn't even think you'd want to see me again." He drags his hands through his already mussed hair. </p><p>"Of course I want to see you Marcus, but I need answers. Everything was so good… <em> we </em>were so good and then it was like somebody flicked a switch and you shut down on me, you barely even said goodbye. I just don't understand what happened, what did I do wrong?"</p><p>"Oh god," he looks crestfallen, "Oh honey, you did <em> nothing </em> wrong, you were, you <em> are, </em> amazing. God, why is this so damn hard?" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing.</p><p>"There we were, on that gondola, it was the perfect moment, and you were the perfect woman, and I've never been so scared in my entire life." Your heart stutters at his words, but if anything you're only more confused. </p><p>"You were scared?" You ask.</p><p>He nods, looking up at you, and you can see tears begin to well in his beautiful brown eyes. </p><p>"I'd always believed that when you find someone special, something real, you hang on to it and you don't let go," his voice breaks, and he shakes his head as if he's trying to clear it before he continues. "But every single relationship, every time I put my heart out there, they let me go. They tell me it isn't me, that it's them, but that doesn't stop it from hurting, and it hurts so <em>goddamned</em> <em>much</em>. After Theresa, I'd resigned myself to being alone forever... and then you came along, and literally fell into my lap."</p><p>He drops his head into his hands, but keeps talking, his words slightly muffled by his fingers. </p><p>"You were funny, and clever, and kind, and beautiful and every minute, every single second with you felt special. I deliberately hadn't… I hadn't been thinking too hard about what it was between us, I was just trying to enjoy it, enjoy you... but sitting there on that boat, I realised I didn't want it to end. I didn't want to say goodbye the next day, I never wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to see you every day for the rest of my life and I wanted to ask you to marry me, and as soon as I had that thought, I panicked." </p><p>"Why?" Your mind reels trying to process everything he's just said. He wanted to ask you...? He thought...? It doesn't make sense. You need it to make sense. </p><p>He raises his eyes to you, and he's so clearly distressed your heart breaks to see it. You reach out, tangling his fingers with your own, holding his hand tightly between your palms, willing him to continue. </p><p>"I bottled it, okay? I freaked. If you'd said no, I would have been ready to throw myself off the fucking gondola, and I just couldn't. I couldn't take it. Not again, and not from you. Never from you."</p><p>He reaches out and cups your jaw and his fingers shake as he runs his thumb across your cheek. </p><p>"My stupid, fucked up brain decided it would be better, easier, to push you away than have you reject me." </p><p>"And what about me Marcus? What about what I want? Did you think about that?" </p><p>"Of course I did." He looks indignant for a second and then his face crumples, and he draws his hand back to clench in his lap. "I was just too afraid to ask." </p><p>You watch a single tear run down his cheek as he stares at his fingers, regret painted across his features. </p><p>"I ruined everything," he rasps, "I'm so sorry. You deserved better than that. You deserve everything."</p><p>There's so much you want to say, but you need him to look at you. You slide off the sofa and kneel between his knees, grabbing his hands as you look him dead in the eye. </p><p>"Marcus, if you'd asked me in that gondola, I'd have told you that I didn't want to say goodbye either, not the next day and not ever. If you'd asked, I'd have told you that I'm head over heels in love with you."</p><p>"You are?" The surprise in his voice makes you ache. </p><p>"Yes," you nod emphatically and your heart somersaults at the smile that lights up his face. </p><p>He leans forward and presses his lips to yours, softly, tentatively and it feels like coming home. Your mind and heart settle for the first time in weeks, and you know what you want with the most beautiful certainty. You could kiss Marcus for days and, you very much intend to, but you still have more to say. </p><p>Pulling back, just enough to see his face, you try to rally your words. They're not perfect, but then neither are you, or Marcus, but when you're together you're more, better than the sum of your parts; perfect for each other. Cradling his dear, sweet face in your hands, you take a deep breath. </p><p>"Marcus Pike. I want you and I love you. Being with you made me happier than I'd have ever believed was possible, and I know this is probably crazy, but, I honestly don't care. Will you marry me?"  </p><p>His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat and the force of the kiss knocks you backwards into the rug. Marcus rolls himself to take the impact but keeps kissing you, his hands in your hair pulling you close and even with the salt of tears on his lips he tastes sweeter than you remember. Your heart feels so full it could burst. </p><p>Eventually you come up for air. </p><p>"So I take it, that's a yes?" You laugh, giddy and overwhelmed in the best way possible. </p><p>"Yes," he says with a laugh, his eyes soft and warm with love, "yes," he kisses you again, "yes, yes, yes…" He pulls back and tenderly strokes your cheek, "sweetheart, it's always been yes with you."  </p><p><br/>
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